


Tears of Blood

by Lakritzwolf



Series: Bond of Blood [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Gandalf - Side Character, Gen, Graphic description of torture, Mutilation, Temporary Character Death, Thorin - Side Character, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Goblin King is a creature of evil, terrifying cruelty. He may look like a toad with a scrotum for a beard, but once captured, the Company finds themselves in a perilous situation. The Goblin King doesn't waste his time singing, and Gandalf comes too late.<br/>Part 2 of  "Bond of Blood"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic description of torture. I set x-x-x markers in the text for those of you who want to skip that part.

It was bad enough having been captured by the goblins and dragged through their filthy caverns, now they were being assessed by the goblin king as if they were wares on display. Even disarmed and threatened, the Company had held their silence about their quest and the goblin king was not a creature with a very long patience. Impassionate he called for his torture devices and told his minions to start with the youngest. 

The Company closed their ranks, but without weapons and hopelessly outnumbered there was little anyone could do.

The goblin king came to a halt in front of Kili. “You’ve got no beard,” he said, his voice sounding like slime oozing from a toadstool. “You’re not a girl, are you?”

Torn between fear and anger, Kili didn’t know how to reply. Cold, pure terror gripped his throat however, when beside him, Fili stepped forward and shoved him back.

“Fili, no!”

Fili’s arm was still outstretched, holding his brother back. “Leave him, it’s me you want. I’m the youngest, my brother just had a... an accident with a cooking fire.”  
The goblin king raised the warty ridges that did him for eyebrows and an unpleasant smile showed on his face. “Brothers, ey? Well, well, if you’re so eager for pain, who am I to deny you?”

“Fili!” Kili tried to launch himself at his brother, but the goblins had already taken hold of Fili and dragged him away. Thorin clamped his arm around Kili’s midriff and held him back.  
“Kili! Stay calm, we can’t help him now.”  
“No...” Kili stopped struggling and stared at his uncle in desperation. “Uncle... we can’t... they will...”  
“I know what they can and will do.” Thorin’s voice was coarse and close to breaking. “He did it to protect you, and the only thing you can do now to honour his sacrifice is not to break.”

Kili fell against Thorin’s shoulder and tried to find the strength to do as Thorin said. He felt his uncle tremble, and his heart grew cold with horror. They would torture his brother to death, and he would be made to watch. It should have been him, but Fili had stepped in his place. 

The goblins had crowded in on Fili and their vicious cackling was punctuated by Fili’s furious screams of defiance. Pieces of torn clothing all but flew out of the ring of goblins around him.  
One of the goblins turned around and waved something before throwing it almost directly at Thorin’s feet and Kili felt his stomach turn when he realised it was one of his brother’s braids. He sunk to his knees and picked it up, his hand clenching around it so hard his knuckles went white. 

The goblins around them cackled and laughed, mocking the Company and telling them this would be the fate that awaited them all. There would be no pride left, only fear, pain, terror and death. Kili felt the other dwarrow close their ranks even more, but he remained where he was, his brother’s severed braid clutched in his hand. 

He felt his vision go murky with tears when the goblins parted and bound Fili spread-eagled to an X-shaped cross. He was naked, and shorn of every bit of hair and beard; thin trickles of blood showed on his head where the goblins had hacked his hair off so brutally that they had cut into his skin. Goblins danced around him cackling and howling while pinching and scratching him, but Fili bore all this with closed lips and his face grim with resolve, eyes staring at nothing.

“Well now.” The goblin king appraised Fili like a craftsman, as if wondering what to smith out of that particular ingot, what to carve out of this piece of wood. “Have you considered telling me what I want to know?” Belying his enormous form he spun around like a snake and glared at Thorin, the obscenely turgid sack at his chin bobbing inches away from Thorin’s face.  
“You wouldn’t release him even if I begged you to,” Thorin growled.  
“Beg?” The grin widened. “What a concept. Thorin Oakenshield begging. I might entertain the thought.”  
“You will not make a dwarf of Durin’s line beg, you bloated, swollen toad! I will not be broken by the threats of a slimy sack of tumour-filled skin!”

The throat-sack began to wobble, the protruding, blubbery belly followed. The goblin king snorted and began to laugh, and within seconds, all the goblins around them joined him in a cacophony of howls and screeches that went through the ears and into the brain like white-hot needles. 

After calming down, the goblin king waddled to his throne again and sat down. “Well, at least I can say that I haven’t been so amused in at least a hundred years.” He snorted again. “But I gather you know that neither threats nor insults will help you, or him. But it was nice for a starter. Let us proceed to the main course.” 

**x-x-x**

He waved his fingers, and a couple of goblins descended down on Fili armed with slim and wickedly sharp knives. They began by flaying strips of his skin, starting on his arms, then his chest and belly, and finally his legs.  
His head dropped forward and his eyes closed, Fili endured it without a sound louder than a grunt of pain. 

“I can see this will be formidable.” The goblin king left his throne and prodded Fili in the ribs, aiming for one of the patches of raw, bleeding flesh. Fili hissed, then turned his head and spat into the goblin’s face.  
A slow smile distorted his ugly features into a grimace of horror. “Ah. Spirit. We’ll see about that.” He stood back and gave an order in his own language, then turned to face the Company rather than his victim. 

A goblin approached Fili with a rectangular block of wood the size and length of Fili’s forearm that he forced between his jaws, keeping a hold on both ends. A goblin behind Fili then lifted a leg and kicked him in the back of the head with a horrid, sickening crunch of bone. Fili’s head fell forward, it was obvious that he had been knocked out, but it was no real mercy. The piece of wood was removed and a mixture of blood, saliva and pieces of shattered teeth welled out of Fili’s open mouth. It was obvious that his jaw had been shattered, too. 

When he came to a few moments later with a strangled groan of pain he lifted his head, blood still dripping from his ruined mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears he could not suppress, but they were alight with pure hate and rage. 

“Still some spirit.” The goblin king nodded, still smiling. Then he turned his head to look at Thorin who had both hands closed around Kili’s shoulders. “Changed your mind, Oh King-under-the-Mountain?”  
“You would not spare him even if I told you every secret of my people.” Thorin’s voice was trembling with rage.  
“I might...” The sickening smile widened. “...consider it.”  
Thorin looked up at Fili and their eyes met. Fili slowly shook his head, mindful of his shattered jaw and Thorin gave him a hardly perceptible bow. “No,” he said. “The dwarrow of Durin’s line do not break.”  
“I shall enjoy putting that to the test.” The goblin king waved, and another goblin jumped out of the crowd with a grin.

It heated a poker in one of the torches and when the tip glowed, pressed it against Fili’s left nipple. A strangled moan escaped the tortured young dwarf, but he lifted his head again, stared at Thorin and shook his head. His other nipple came next, and again, Fili could suppress a scream of pain.  
Kili kept staring at his brother and wished it was him. Pain, he could endure. But watching them mutilate his brother was worse than any pain he could imagine. Nothing they could do to his body could hurt more than this.

While the goblin re-heated his poker, the king looked at Thorin again. “Well? Still not changed your mind?”  
Thorin’s voice was flat with fury. “ _Luszel-ilsiz mefsu!_ ”

The goblin king laughed, and gestured at his torturer, and before Thorin had even time to think, the red-hot poker was back. It vanished between Fili’s spread legs, and everyone of the Company flinched as the poker went up Fili’s rectum. The scream that followed was the stuff of nightmares.

“Uncle,” Kili rasped before he doubled over. Had he eaten anything that day he’d have retched; as it was, he only dry-heaved a couple of times before looking up at Thorin through his tears. “Uncle, please...”  
Thorin’s face was white and his fists clenched tight as his eyes met Kili’s. Then he looked up again at the goblin king. “Enough!”  
“Thorin, no!” It was hardly comprehensible due to Fili’s shattered mouth, but he screamed his defiance out as loud as he could, his voice already hoarse, but still strong. “No!”  
Thorin froze, then bowed his head at his nephew before looking at the goblin king again. Fili was ready to die, and his sacrifice would not be in vain.

“You were saying?”  
Thorin stared him down, but the big, fat goblin knew perfectly well who had the upper hand. He gave a few orders in his own foul language, but then gave Thorin a grin that made every dwarf shudder.  
“How impolite towards our esteemed guests. I should translate that, shouldn’t I?” He chuckled, making his belly and throat-sack wobble. “I don’t suppose any woman would want him now with a face like that, so if he doesn’t already have offspring... it will be too late.”  
“Thorin!” Kili tried to get onto his feet again but Thorin closed his hands around his nephew’s shoulders like a vice.  
_He is dead, and he knows it_ , he gestured in Iglishmek. _Everyone is staring at him now, try and reach one of his throwing knives._

The heavy and bitter realisation of finality broke Kili’s heart, but he did not cry. Now he had to be strong, for Fili’s sake. He stopped weeping, and dropped the severed braid he had been clutching to his heart before sidling forward and reaching for one of the small throwing knives. His fingers touched it and closed around it; none of the goblins paid him any notice. Dwalin, however, had seen his move and took a step beside him so he was shielded from the eyes of the goblins standing closest to him.

The goblins spread over the cave howled and screamed as well, and every single one of them began to stomp their feet in a rhythm that started slow and became faster and faster as the torturer with the knife approached Fili again. The rhythm rose to a staccato.

Dwalin closed his hand around Kili’s upper arm to help him up, and with the blade concealed in his hand, Kili exchanged a look with Thorin, his own bleak despair being mirrored in his uncle’s eyes. There was no hope for his brother now, and even as he looked up, Fili’s horrifying scream rang through the cave. The goblin torturer held a bloody lump of flesh in front of his face, and Kili tried not to think about it as he took a step to the side, hefting the knife in his hand.

A goblin behind Fili now grabbed his head by the ears and lifted his face, but the sound that emerged from him as the poker took out his eyes was no longer recognisable as belonging to a dwarf, it was a hoarse rattle, his throat finally too raw to scream anymore. 

**x-x-x**

Kili cast a cautious look around him, but none of the goblins were looking at their prisoners. A deep breath, another gauging look to assess distance and angle, and Kili lifted his arm, the throwing knife between his fingers.  
“We’ll meet in the Halls of Waiting, brother of mine,” he whispered.

But just as he was about to throw, a blinding light seared through the darkness of the cave, felling goblin and dwarf alike.

* * *

In the chaos of picking up arms and finally being able to fight back, Kili realised that it was his brother’s sword, and not his own, that he had in his hand. He cast a quick look at the cross Fili was still bound to, and his mind was quickly made up. He would not leave his brother here to become one of the goblin’s trophies, his bones decorating their vile caves after these foul-some creatures had feasted on his flesh. 

Just as he was cutting Fili loose, trying not to look at his still bleeding crotch, he felt a pair of hands aiding him. Dwalin gave him a nod and hoisted Fili’s body over his shoulder, holding him in place with one hand while fighting with the other. Kili remained close to him, guarding his defenceless side.

There was hardly time enough to take a breath once they had finally cleared out of the goblin caves. The howls of wargs gave them no time to rest. It was only after the eagles had put them down at the Carrock that Kili was finally able to be with his brother again one final time.

A part of him wished that he had never taken him from that cross in the goblin caves, for now, he could all too clearly see what had been done to him. Nori had somehow produced a cloak to wrap around his body so his hideous injuries were, mostly, not visible anymore, but the tortured, mutilated, emasculated body lying before him was not his brother. Not anymore. His brother was in the Halls of Waiting, and whatever he had gone through now lay behind him. Despite that, Kili felt the tears come back as he wished he could touch Fili one last time and couldn’t bring himself to do it. Then he felt a hand on his shoulders.

“Is he really dead?”  
Biting back another sob, Kili looked up in Thorin’s battered, grief-stricken face. But before he could answer, Gandalf knelt down on Fili’s other side.  
The wizard’s face betrayed nothing as he placed a hand on Fili’s forehead, but he frowned when he saw Thorin kneel down beside Fili, a dagger in his hand. 

“And what do you think you are doing, Thorin?”  
Thorin met Gandal’s gaze. “If there is still life in his broken body, holding his spirit back and binding it to this dying lump of flesh, then I intend to speed him along so he can find rest in the Halls of Waiting.”  
“You will do no such thing.” Gandalf’s voice was stern. “While there is life, there is hope and you...”  
“What hope is there for him?” Thorin interrupted him harshly. “Look at what they did to him! They took his eyes, his manhood, they destroyed his mouth and made sure he’d never have control over his bowels again if he lived and by Mahal, he is not going to... to... exist in such a state. No one deserves that, least of all a dwarf like him, to be forced into such a miserable existence that cannot be called living!”

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf began. “If you would listen to me...”  
“No, wizard, I won’t. Unless you tell me you can use that staff of yours to heal all of his wounds and make him whole again. For if you cannot, then the only thing we can do for him is make sure his suffering is ended.”  
“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarfs!” Gandalf got up and threw his hands up. “I have no intention to let him suffer, and if you will not share my hopes that he can be saved, then you force my hand. It is for his own good, Thorin.”

“What?” Thorin got up but a heavy gust of wind almost toppled him over again. A giant pair of talons gently closed around Fili’s body before anyone had time to react.  
Up and up the eagle rose, removing himself and Fili’s body farther and farther away with every beat of his mighty wings.

Thorin turned towards Gandalf with murder in his eyes. “Where is he going? Where is he taking my nephew? Why do you deny us the comfort of giving him a decent grave, Gandalf?”  
“Because there may be no need for a grave just yet.” Gandalf met Thorin’s murderous glare unabashed.  
“If you weren’t a wizard I’d kill you for this.”  
Gandalf rolled his eyes. “Thorin, I...”  
“Get out of my sight.” His voice, murderous only moments before, was suddenly very, very tired. “They cut off his manhood without treating the wound. If he hasn’t already bled to death from it he will have done so by the time the eagle reaches whatever destination you told him to go.”

Gandalf was about to say something, but then shook his head and decided against it. 

Thorin knelt down beside Kili, who was still kneeling on the hard rocks, motionless with a pale and empty face, and draped an arm around his nephew. “Kili, my lad.” His voice was breaking.  
“It should have been me.” Kili’s whisper was toneless and void of any feeling. “It should have been me. Why did he step in front of me?”  
“He wanted to protect you.” Thorin swallowed hard. “Just as you had wanted to protect him had it been the other way round.”  
“It should have been me.” Kili finally looked up and the look in his eyes almost broke Thorin’s heart again. “It should have been me! He was your heir! He was meant to be King! How can I take his place? How can he be gone? Why didn’t they take me?!”

Thorin found no more words as he looked into his nephew’s anguished face.  
“He’s always been there, uncle. Always. He can’t be gone. Not like this! Not when it should have been me!”  
“Kili...”  
“It should have been me.” He sobbed. “Fili, why... it should have been me...”  
Thorin closed his arms firmly around Kili and took a shaky breath. “He wanted you to live. Your life is his final gift to you, accept it and honour it like you would honour him.”

Kili’s voice sounded forlorn and small, as if he was nothing but a small dwarfling again, lost in a world too cruel for him to understand. “What am I going to do without him?”  
“You will find a way to go on.”  
“It should have been me...”  
Another sob caught in Kili’s throat, and Thorin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s all right, lad. There is no need to be ashamed of tears, not with a grief like yours. Let it out, Kili. Let it go.”

Kili’s shoulders began to shake, and with another sob, the dam inside him broke. He threw back his head and keened, howling out a high-pitched ululation of grief that brought tears to the other dwarrow’s eyes just from listening to it. On and on it went, until he was finally so spent and hoarse that he could hardly breathe anymore.  
No one of the Company but Thorin knew how it felt to lose a brother, and he held on to his nephew even long after Kili had passed out from exhaustion.

The rest of the Company tried to make what camp they could, lighting a small fire, and they huddled together in small groups, close to brothers that were still alive. 

Nori sat down between Dori and Ori, draping his arms around both of them. He had never come so close to losing them both, had seen them fall to their certain deaths had it not been for the eagles.  
The three of them huddled together, relieved they were still together and eaten by grief for the one who would never see or touch his brother again.


	2. Interlude

_For The Heart I Once Had  
by Nightwish_

_Heaven today is but a way  
To a place I once called home.  
Heart of a child, one final sigh  
As another love goes cold._

_Once my heart beats to the rhythm of the falling snow  
blackened below.  
The river now flows - a stream on molten virgin snow._

_For the heart I'll never have,  
For the child forever gone  
The music flows because it longs  
For the heart I once had._

_Living today without a way  
To understand the weight of the world.  
Faded and torn, old and forlorn  
My weak and hoping heart._

_For the child, for the night  
For the heart I once had  
I believe and foresee  
Everything I could ever be._

_Time will not heal a dead boy's scars,  
Time will kill._

**x-x-x**

The light had vanished from Kili’s eyes that day, something in him had died along with Fili in the goblin caves. There was no more jesting, no more singing, only downcast eyes and drooping shoulders. His voice, if he spoke at all, was dull and tired, and it was heard less and less frequent as the days passed.

The only time that his fiery spirit showed once again was when the elves of Mirkwood were disarming the Company after the fight with the spiders, and his anguish and fury as he tried to get the weapon back had almost gotten him killed. Back in the cells, however, he just huddled into a corner and occasionally begged a guard who brought them food and water if he couldn’t at least see his sword again. None of the guards reacted, they didn’t even show whether they had understood his question at all.  
None of the other dwarrrow had the heart to reprimand him.

Until the day a red-haired female elf, who had also been present at their capture, came up to Kili’s cell and was confronted with the same, humiliating begging words.  
She halted and gave him a quizzical look.

“Why is that sword so important to you?”  
Kili closed his fingers around the bars of his prison door. “It is my brother’s. He died to save my life in the goblin caves, and it’s the last thing I have left of him. Please, I just want to see it. Please!”  
The elven guard looked over her shoulder and back at Kili in his cell. “I cannot give it to you.”  
“I am not stupid.” Kili grabbed the bars harder. “I just want to look at it.”  
The red-haired guard sighed and walked away, leaving him humiliated for nothing yet again.

But that night she came back, and knelt down at Kili’s cell door.  
“Dwarf,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”  
Kili instantly dropped from the ledge he was lying on and scurried for the door. His eyes widened when he saw her producing a long item from her quiver that was definitely not an arrow. She leaned it against the wall, just out of reach but in sight.  
Kili looked back and forth between her and the blade, at a loss for words. He kept staring at Fili’s sword until the tears came again, but he cared little about what the elf captain would think about him.

To his surprise, the elf settled down and sat close to the door. “I am Tauriel.”  
Kili pondered his choices for a while, but since he could only feel grateful, he didn’t deny her an answer. “Kili.”  
“And your brother? What was he like?”  
“What is it to you, elf?”  
Tauriel met his eyes. “I know how it feels to lose a brother. The spiders killed him last fall.”  
Kili lowered his eyes and felt like a fool. Worse, he felt like an ungrateful fool “I’m sorry, Tauriel.”  
“Our kind has few children, and not a lot of us havesiblings. There are not many among us that understand why I cannot put his death behind meas I could with a friend’s or comrade’s.” Her forehead was furrowed and she looked up at Kili again. “Do you have other siblings?”  
Kili mutely shook his head.

“Then we are both left alone in a way that one without a brother will never understand.” The elf’s voice was soft and low.  
“Is that why you brought it?” Kili leaned forward against the bars.  
“If anyone would have held a keepsake of my brother away from me, I would have gone mad with grief as well. Yes, that is why I brought it. My brother’s name was Elanias.”  
“My brother’s name was Fili.”  
“Did he look like you?”

Kili shook his head. “He was more muscled than I am. Shorter. More a proper dwarf than I will ever be.” His voice broke at these last words, and Kili continued with his voice becoming more and more husky. “His eyes were blue as the sky of midsummer, his hair had the colour of gold. He i... was older than me, he’s always been there, and I can’t... I don’t know how to live without him.”  
“If he died so you can live, you will find a way.”  
“My uncle said so too, but I find it very difficult.”  
“No one said it would be easy.” Tauriel reached for Kili with her hand and after some hesitation, Kili took her slender hand in his. “But you will find a way. Your life is his final gift, and you will cherish it, and one day, you might even give your firstborn son his name to honour his memory for another generation.”

They remained like this, in remembrance of brothers lost to them forever, until Tauriel announced that she had to go. Leaning his back against the wall Kili could see the sword glinting in the dim light. His brother’s sword.

An unbidden memory arose, a memory from long ago. It was one of his earliest memories.  
He had taken Fili’s toy sword and somehow, had unintentionally broken it. In his anger, Fili had hit him.  
They had made up later, and Kili could feel his remorse when he thought back to that day and that moment Fili had apologized for having hit him.  
He had promised his brother never to take his sword again.

“I’ll keep it safe, brother.” Kili whispered tonelessly, his voice thick with tears. “I swear I’ll keep it safe.”

It was not long after Tauriel had gone that Bilbo finally came for them, triumphantly jingling the keys to their prison. 

**x-x-x**

Kili managed to hold on to his brother’s sword through the madness that was their escape, and slaying orcs had never been so satisfactory when he thought that it was through him that Fili’s sword could still drink their black and tainted blood. One day, he swore to himself as he dragged himself ashore, one day he would take an army and go back to the Misty Mountains, and no goblin would be left alive. 

In Laketown he finally managed to acquire a sheath for the sword. So it would never have to leave his side again. He still felt the loss of his brother like the loss of a limb, sometimes the pain was numb and sometimes as if said limb was on fire, but he felt a little more confident now at the thought of meeting him again one time. He would be able to look into Fili’s eyes and thank him for his sacrifice, and tell him that he had used the gift he had given his little brother well.


	3. Kili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No, I’ve never watched Dune, and if it wasn’t for my Beta, I wouldn’t even be aware of the similarity._

After they had finally reached the Overlook, Kili, as all the rest of the Company, was awed by the sight of Dale, as ruined as it was, and the sight of the gates of Erebor. They were supposed to meet with Gandalf here, even if Thorin had little trust and even less liking for the wizard after what happened on the Carrock, but since the wizard was not in sight he simply ordered them to move on, despite Bilbo’s feeble attempt to protest.

They were about halfway between Dale and Erebor as Bilbo spotted a lone rider coming for them. It became clear pretty soon who it was on the white horse, grey robes and a grey pointy hat weren’t exactly common, after all. 

But a strange, perturbed silence fell onto the Company when the rider came closer. Another person shared the horse with him, a person much smaller than the wizard, and in the head wind of the horse’s gallop his golden hair flew behind him like a banner.

Kili felt himself frozen to the spot, denying the impossible and yet hoping for it at the same time. He felt a tug at his arm and managed to get his feet moving again, but his mind refused to keep up.

They met Gandalf on the barren slopes close to the gates of Erebor, reaching him just as he had dismounted and helped the other figure out of the saddle. He was clad in boots, tunic and trousers of what seemed to be elven make, his golden hair and beard were unbraided, but it was Fili, his body cleansed of all the foul and terrible mutilations the goblins had done to him.

But even as Kili stumbled a step towards his brother he was stopped by a feeling of wrongness. He would have wanted to throw his arms around him and never let go, to tell him how painful life was without him, but all this vanished out of his mind when he saw Fili’s eyes.

They were utterly, terrifyingly empty. 

“Fili?” His voice was hoarse and refused to obey. “Brother?”  
There was no reaction that showed Fili had even heard him.  
Kili’s eyes slowly swivelled up to Gandalf’s face in search for an answer. The old wizard closed his hands around his staff.

“Sometimes...” Gandalf began, “...sometimes a soul will hold on to its flesh far longer than it ought to. Unwilling to accept their fate they will linger, and such strength of will I suspected in your brother. Thus it was possible to...”  
“What have you done to him?” Thorin had shoved a few others of the Company aside and glared at Gandalf with burning eyes. “He was dead, for Mahal’s sake, and you revived an empty shell without a soul!”

Gandalf drew himself up straight and towered over the dwarf in front of him. “I oppugn, Thorin Oakenshield. If there hadn’t been a soul, we could never have revived him. This isn’t necromancy you see. No, I gather that it is the horrors of his death and what preceded it that has his mind hiding beyond the waters of forgetfulness. The sacred waters of Lothlorien’s most hallowed well have healed his body, but it is up to you, his kin and friends, to encourage his mind to come back.”

Thorin dragged both hands down his face, but within another second his shields were up again and he gave Gandalf an icy look. “I don’t suppose you have a suggestion what to do with him while we enter the mountain to face a dragon?”  
“I suggest you keep him well out of it.” Gandalf cast a look over his shoulder at the main gates and the avalanche of rocks that blocked it. “We can take care of him once we have taken care of the dragon.”

Kili had witnessed the exchange of Thorin and Gandalf with growing dread. His brother was there, he was standing not two steps away from him, but he was still further away from him than the moon. Fili’s body without his mind. Feeling a strange numbness where he knew happiness should be he closed the distance between him and Fili and tried to capture his brother’s eyes. 

“Fili? Brother?”  
Those painfully familiar blue eyes passed by Kili’s own for a moment before they resumed the aimless roaming. Something was gone from those eyes, and Kili knew what it was. But how to bring it back, he had no idea.  
“Fili. That is your name. You remember that? Fili?”  
There was no sign of recognition in Fili’s empty face.  
Tears blurred Kili’s vision, but before he could make another attempt, he felt a strong hand close around his shoulder.

“Leave it for now, Kili,” Thorin said. “As much as I dislike it, I have to agree with our wizard. We have only hours to find the hidden door, we must focus on that right now.”  
“But...” Kili wiped his face and tried to man up and stop his tears.  
“Believe me, I hate to see him in this state as much as you do.” Thorin took a deep breath and looked at Gandalf again, tilting his head in a tiny gesture of defeat. “But Gandalf has given us hope where there was none. We will think of something, but we have to find the door first.”  
“Yes, uncle.” Kili looked again at his brother who stared at the clouds as if he was seeing some marvellous wonders. “Lead on.”  
“Good lad.” Another clap on his shoulder, and Thorin left him.

“What are your plans, Gandalf?”  
The wizard had just finished lighting his pipe. “The door must be up there.” He pointed at the flank of the mountain. “You will have as much luck as I finding it with that map, so I see no sense in coming with you. I will stay here at the gate and prepare a trap for Smaug should he decide to come out this way for whatever reason.”  
“Good.” Thorin nodded and slipped a hand inside his tunic to bring forth the map. “Will you meet us up there once your business here is done?”  
“I will, though I cannot say how long it will take.”  
“Understood.”

Thorin faced the Company again. “We make for the door and take him with us. Bofur, Bifur, you guard him and do not leave his side.”  
“Uncle...”  
“I know, Kili.” Thorin closed a hand around Kili’s shoulder as they walked. “You want to be at his side, and I understand. But you are one of my best fighters, and I need you where the going will be toughest, where there is no place for him in his state.”  
“Right.” Kili swallowed, but dislike it as he might, Thorin was right.

Yet even as he climbed up the slopes of the Lonely Mountain Kili’s mind was still trying to keep up with what was happening. Fili was alive. His brother was alive, he wasn’t dead after all, but he was hiding away in a void that Kili didn’t know how to breach. And then, again, he wasn’t dead. But how could he be alive? Magic, of course. But...  
“Kili.”  
Kili looked up at Thorin’s worried face.  
“I know it’s hard to take in, but you need to be alert.”

Only now Kili realised that he had come dangerously close to the edge, not watching where he was going in his broodings. He nodded and forced his mind into focus, but the nagging feeling at the back of his mind remained.

**x-x-x**

They had found the door but not the keyhole, and when the last light had vanished it seemed that everything had been in vain, every pain, every drop of blood and every sacrifice. The defeat was almost too much to deal with when, all of a sudden, Bilbo – of all people –found the keyhole. 

All this added another high of spirit and another blow of defeat to Kili’s already tumbling mind after seeing his brother being tortured to death and miraculously coming to life again. It all made him wish, for the first time since he’d been declared battle ready at the age of thirty-two, that he’d listened to his mother and stayed at home. 

And now it was Bilbo who went inside, to search for the Arkenstone, alone into the lair of the dragon. They had a lot to thank him for. 

Sitting with his back to the rocks Kili watched his brother out of the corner of his eye. He sat next to Bifur and marvelled at one of the toymaker’s intricate contraptions, a small dragon mounted on fine wire attached to a set of gears and a handle. Bifur turned the handle, and the gears pulled at the wires, and the little dragon came to life, beating its wings and stretching out its neck.

Fili was watching the tiny dragon with unmasked wonder in his eyes, and Kili watched his brother. When they still had been boys, Bifur had brought them something every time he came to visit, and a few of those cherished toys were still in a small chest back in their home in Ered Luin, keepsakes from a happy, carefree childhood. Did he remember playing with things like these?

“I remember you made us little warriors once,” Kili said to Bifur, not taking his eyes off Fili’s face. “With clockwork in them and a turnkey. They walked and wielded their weapons.”  
Bifur smiled at him, obviously happy that Kili remembered those.  
“Do you remember, Fili?” Kili tried to capture his brother’s eyes. “Mine had a hammer, and yours an axe.”  
Fili frowned for the fraction of a second before his eyes locked onto the dragon in Bifur’s hands again.

Kili knew he shouldn’t feel defeated after the first, half-hearted attempt at reviving Fili’s memories, but the truth was, the emotional maelstrom of the last days had left him exhausted to the bones. Dimly he wondered if he would even have the strength to lift his sword when Thorin needed him as he had earlier mentioned.

With a jump of his heart, he stared at the blade at his side and unsheathed it, then slowly shuffled over to his brother.  
“Fili?”  
Fili did look at him this time, for a few seconds only, before his eyes wandered back to the dragon.  
“Fili, look. I saved your sword. The one _Amad_ gave you for Durin’s Day five years ago. Look!”  
When he looked up this time, there was a frown on Fili’s face. He stared at Kili, then at the sword, and cowered; scrambled a little backward until he had the rocks at his back and could move no further and then pulled up his knees. 

“No, no.” This was so wrong that Kili had to fight his tears again. “No, Fili, this is yours. You are a fighter. A warrior. You’re of Durin’s line, you are not afraid of your own sword!”  
Fili dropped his head into his arms that rested on his knees.  
“I kept it safe! I know I promised never to take your sword again, but I kept it safe! It’s yours, take it! Take it!”  
Fili shrunk back even more.

His mental barriers worn thin by the strain of the last days, Kili threw down the blade with a vile curse and rose. He walked as far away from anyone as he could on that little ledge and, turning his back to everyone else, stared down into the desolation below him so none of the others would see his tears.

Bifur and Bofur exchanged a long glance. The former shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and the latter then moved cautiously to sit at Fili’s side.

“He’s just worried, you know.” Bofur tried to make his voice as gentle as he could. “You’re brothers, you and him, and it was very hard on him thinking you dead. He wants you back, you know. We all do.”  
Fili slowly lifted his head.  
“You’ve always been so close,” Bofur went on. “I don’t think I can recall a time when it was about Kili or Fili. It was always Fili and Kili. Inseparable, you were. Through everything together. I remember that one time when the smelter blew up and you got hit by a bit of burning wood. You weren’t too badly injured, but you lost all your hair to the fire. And he...” Bofur pointed at Kili with his pipe. “Your brother wouldn’t let you be shamed alone. Cut off his own hair, he did, all of it, down to the scalp. That’s how close you were. That’s how close you are.”

All eyes rested on Kili now who stood at the end of the ledge, his shoulders hunched as the wind was playing with his hair. Of course he had heard Bofur’s words, and he didn’t like to think back on this particular instance. But Kili remembered that moment of horror when he thought his brother might be dead, the devastation in Fili’s voice when he had discovered his hair gone, and the churning feeling of terror in his own guts as he had cut off his hair.  
But neither would he forget the look in his brother’s eyes when Fili had realised why Kili had done it. 

He slowly turned around, to find Fili standing as well. Had Bofur’s tale stirred something in him?

Kili didn’t learn the answer to the question burning in his mind because at that precise moment, the mountain shook.

The dwarrow jumped to their feet with worried faces.  
“What was that?”  
“Was that an earthquake?”

The only one to remain calm was Balin, and the look on his face was one of finality and defeat. “That, my lad,” he said, “...was a dragon.”

**x-x-x**

Kili had imagined the moment of finally entering the halls of Erebor, after a lifetime of stories, to be somewhat more grand, more awe-inspiring. Instead he found himself running through galleries, crossing bridges where the rails had long rotted or been burned away, and wondering what a handful of dwarrow were going to do about a dragon when the whole standing force of Erebor in its prime had been unable to stand against it.

Thorin seemed to have a plan, although what leading Smaug to the forges would achieve Kili had no idea. They had followed him, through tunnels and past burst and burned doors, to an armoury that mysteriously had not been pillaged by either the desperate defenders of Erebor or later, Smaug himself. 

Still, there wasn’t much, and Dwalin, Kili and Thorin had shared what armour there was and donned it, and all of them had replaced the ungainly weapons of Laketown; all but Kili that is, who was still carrying Fili’s sword. None of the Company was sure if that really bettered their chances against a dragon, but no dwarrow hadn’t gone into battle yet if he hadn’t been prepared as best as he could.

Bofur and Bifur were flanking Fili closely and the younger dwarf between them seemed acutely aware of danger even if he didn’t seem to understand what exactly they were facing. Looking at them, Bofur with a massive mattock and Bifur with a spear that had two narrow, saw-edged blades extending down the shaft from a long, pointy tip that looked like a very large arrowhead, Kili knew his brother was well protected. As well as possible, given the circumstances.

Now they had separated into small groups and were leading the beast into the forges of Erebor. 

x-x-x

Dragonfire.

That was all that Kili could think when he saw Smaug breathe fire for the first time, lighting up the giant furnaces that had been stone-cold for centuries with a single huff of breath. 

Dragonfire. A whole army had been helpless against it, how could they hope for a better fate?

Nothing they could do would even harm the beast, not even the vicious fire bombs that Balin had made; they bounced off his scales as harmless as pebbles.

Dragonfire. It could reduce any living being into a heap of ash in an instant.

With a strange, calm clarity Kili realised that he was going to die, and not only him, his brother too, his uncle, and everyone else who had entered the Mountain. Smaug would yet again feast on the flesh of their people, and his reign would never end. But Mahal damn him if Kili would give in without a fight.

A scream of terror yanked him out of his thoughts and into a horrifying realisation.

Overcome by panic, Fili had bolted, trying to get away from the dragon. Smaug had seen him, and with a few swift strides, now had Fili cornered at the far wall of the gallery, his eyes glistening with evil as he eyed his defenceless prey.  
Not even aware what he was doing, Kili started to run.

He passed Bofur and Bifur who had taken cover behind a collapsed pillar. Something in his sub-consciousness that he wasn’t even aware of made him drop his sword and wrench the spear out of Bifur’s hands. Screaming at the top of his lungs he hefted the spear and ran just as Smaug bared his teeth at his brother.

Smaug noticed the attacker and swung his head around. Time slowed, and all sound vanished to Kili as he tightened his grip on the wooden shaft. 

The dragon inhaled and his chest began to glow. 

Two steps more, and Kili launched himself forward, driving the spear deeply into Smaug’s left eye. Hot, boiling hot blood spurted out of the wound, scalding Kili’s face. 

Smaug reared, and Kili’s left hand lost its grip. 

A gust of fire hit him that died before it could fully emerge as the dragon’s movement, paired with Kili’s weight still clinging to the shaft, had driven the spear even deeper into his eye, and deeper yet, straight into his brain. 

The fire in Smaug’s chest extinguished. His head fell to the ground, burying Kili’s legs and lower body. 

Kili felt nothing. He didn’t feel the scalded skin on his face, he didn’t feel the heat of glowing armour on his left side, and he didn’t feel the pressure of Smaug’s head crushing his legs. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, but he could still hear, and what he heard made him smile. 

“KILI!”

Darkness swallowed him, and he felt nothing at all anymore.

“KILI!”

“Kili!” Fili was the first of the Company to awake from their stupor as they all stared at Smaug’s still and lifeless form. “Kili!” He ran to his brother, fell onto his knees beside him and tried desperately to pull him free from under the dragon’s head. 

“Dwalin!”Thorin’s voice tore the others out of their petrification. “Bifur, Bofur, Gloin! Get him out!”

The dwarrow unfroze and sprang into action, and with their united strength they succeeded in pushing Smaug’s head around enough for Fili to pull his brother free. Sobbing like a child Fili held his brother to his chest and rocked back and forth while begging him not to die.  
“Kili... Kili please... Stay with me, please... Kili... little brother, you can’t die...”  
“Fili.” Thorin knelt down beside him. “Fili my lad...”

Fili looked up and met his eyes. “What is happening, uncle? Where are we? What is happening?”  
Thorin took a deep breath. “We are in the forges of Erebor and Kili... your brother has slain the Dragon, Fili.”  
Fili’s face went even whiter as he finally realized what it was he had pulled his brother free of. “Smaug?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Let me see the lad!” Oin pushed his way through the others and almost fell to his knees. “Let me... oh Mahal...”  
Kili stirred with a groan.  
“Put him down, lad, I need to see the damage.”  
Unwilling to do so yet seeing the need for it Fili hesitatingly put his brother down.  
“Now get some water, and hurry up!”

Fili helped Oin to remove Kili’s armour, and it was still hot enough to be unpleasant to handle. It wasn’t before they had removed the mail shirt that they could see how bad the damage really was. 

Kili stirred again and with a hoarse moan, opened his right eye. The left side of his face was caked with drying blood the colour of obsidian, but the eye he could open immediately searched for Fili’s face. A tired smile tugged at his lips. “Fili... you... remember...”  
“Still, brother.” Fili focussed on his brother’s face and not on the left side of his body. “Lie still, you’ve been badly wounded.”  
“It hurts...” Kili rasped. “Am I dying?”  
“Stop talking like that and be grateful you aren’t,” Thorin added. He had knelt down beside Fili and began to wash the dragon blood off Kili’s face and hair. 

But as he did so, he uncovered a dismaying sight. Where the dragon blood had hit him, Kili’s skin was bright scarlet, wrinkled and covered in large, weeping blisters. His left eyeball was sunken, only an empty, white orb remained. Where the blood had met his hair it was no longer the colour of a raven’s feather, it was bleached to an unhealthy, yellowish white, the colour of old bones. His beard looked the same. 

The most uncomfortable thing was, however, that the right half of his face was completely unblemished but for a few blisters where droplets of blood had hit him. 

Kili had endured the procedure with closed eyes and gritted teeth, only the occasional hiss had escaped him.Now he opened his eyes again and blinked a few times, his expression becoming fearful.  
“I can’t see...” His right eye found Fili’s face again. “What’s wrong with my other eye?”  
Fili swallowed. “Kili...” He licked dry lips and just blurted it out, there was no making this easier, after all. “I’m afraid it’s gone.”  
Kili let his head drop back and swallowed hard. 

“Kili.” Thorin gently took his right hand. “You killed a dragon. Few warriors have ever managed a feat like this, and fewer even have survived it. Scarred you may be, but those scars are the greatest marks of honour any warrior could ever bear. You killed a dragon, and lived to tell the tale.”  
Kili’s eye opened again. “I... I killed him?”  
“You did.”  
Kili chuckled, but there was a slightly hysterical undertone to it. “I guess it’s no wonder I feel as if I’ve been beaten on Mahal’s anvil.”  
“No, it isn’t.” Thorin gently brushed a few strands of hair from Kili’s forehead. “But you sure earned your warrior’s name today, and a place in songs and legends, Kili Dragonslayer.”  
Kili stared at the darkness above him as he tried to digest these words. 

The gushing of the forges and the trickling of water were the only sounds for a moment. 

Kili turned his head and looked at Thorin and his brother kneeling at his right, and managed to give them a weak and tired smile. “I don’t feel like legend material right now. I... I can’t feel my left arm.”  
“You need to...” Fili began, but Kili turned his head and lifted his left arm to inspect it. 

His eyes went wide with horror as he saw the reddened skin below his elbow give way to burned and blackened flesh towards the wrist. A scream of agony rose up from his chest and echoed in the empty hall as he looked at his hand, or what once had been his hand. All that was left was the charred, blackened remains of bones.

His scream rose in height and became a shrill, ear pitching shriek of horror as he tried to shake off this skeletal hand at the end of his arm, but at that moment Dwalin lifted his axe, eyes sorrowful with his knowledge of battle wounds and when a limb could not be saved. He brought the axe down hard, severing the burned limb in one clean blow, and Kili mercifully fainted.


	4. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Since I’ve never seen a crossbow in Middle Earth or heard of them, I made it a new invention._

  
The Scarred Prince, sketch by Saskia Durrer

* * *

When Kili awoke he was completely confused as to why he was lying in a bed and why he was hurting so much. Then he heard his brother’s voice beside him telling him to lie still, andit all came back to him.

He had killed Smaug, and he had paid a terrible price for it.

He slowly turned his head and realised that the left side of his face was covered in soft gauze. Then he slowly lifted his left arm, terrified of what he’d find. The arm ended in a bandage two inches below the elbow. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, only remembering as he gently placed his arm down that he had lost an eye, as well. Crippled.

“No!” Fili’s voice made him realise that he must have said the last word aloud. “No, Kili, you’re not crippled. You’ve lost a hand, yes, and an eye, too. But our grandfather had lost his eye at a young age, too, do you remember the stories uncle Thorin told us?”  
Kili forced himself to look at his brother and felt comforted by the earnest look in his steel-blue eyes. “I do.”  
“And...” Kili carefully took his right hand and squeezed it. “I know you will never shoot your bow again, but you can still wear a shield on that arm and use a sword.”  
Kili managed a nod and closed his eyes again. “I guess you’re right, but it still feels...”  
“I know.” His brother ran a gentle hand through Kili’s hair. “Or I think I do.”

Kili had heard a strange undertone in Fili’s voice and looked at his brother again. He was frowning and looking at their entwined hands. “Fee?”  
Fili shook his head like a wet dog. “It’s...” Their eyes met. “It’s the memories.”

There was something in Fili’s eyes, but his brother could not quite decide if it was something that was missing or something that hadn’t been there before. But something had changed, and Kili realised at that moment that his brother would never again be as he had been before. Not completely. Just as he himself would never be the same. 

“I can see them. In your eyes.”  
“What do you see?” Fili’s voice was low and a little unsteady.  
“Your scars,” Kili whispered. “The fact that my scars are visible to everyone doesn’t make a difference. I can see yours, just as you can see mine.”

The two brothers exchanged a long look, their eyes locked and a thousand words passing between them that never needed saying. Finally, Fili leaned forward and gently touched Kili’s forehead with his own.

“I owe you my life, little brother,” he whispered.  
“And I owe you mine.” Kili increased the pressure of his fingers. “It should have been me, and you took my place. Compared to what you must have gone through, I’ve gotten off lightly.”  
“I had to do it.”  
“I know.”

They remained like this and Fili didn’t leave his brother’s side, not until Kili had fallen asleep again. 

**x-x-x**

When Kili was finally able to leave his sickbed the first thing he did, after struggling to get into his boots with only one hand, was ask his brother for a mirror. Fili had expected this and had spent some time searching the royal quarters for one that he had cleansed and polished and now offered to his brother so he could finally see what the dragon had done to him.

Kili stared into the mirror as an unfamiliar, scarred warrior stared back at him. The skin on the left side of his face was wrinkled, scarred by the boiling hot dragon blood. The eye was an empty white orb, and the hair and beard on the left side were bleached into the colour of old ivory. 

He put the mirror down with a heavy sigh. “I guess the next time I wink at a pretty lass she’s going to run away screaming.”  
“I doubt it.” Fili offered his brother a hand up and kept a hand on his arm to steady him as Kili found his balance after the long time in bed. “The right lasses know the worth of your scars. Scars show where you’ve been, they do not dictate where you are going, and those that are so shallow they despise you because of them...honestly, you don’t want those anyway.”  
“I guess I won’t.” Kili managed a smile. “I still haven’t really gotten it into my head that it was me who killed Smaug.”  
“You’ll realise soon enough, as soon as you show your face outside anyway.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Fili patted his shoulder and smiled, managing to banish his haunts for the moment. “You’ll see.”

They made their way through largely empty corridors and up stairs that had new railings.  
“The rebuilding begins, huh?” Kili looked at the wooden handrail as they mounted the stairs.  
“Slowly,” Fili replied. “But wait when the others from Ered Luin arrive. Soon we won’t recognise this place.”

Another thing hit Kili’s senses and he wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”  
Fili pursed his lips. “That would be the smell of dead dragon,” he said. “We got as many people as we could to help with skinning him and carving him up, but we’ve still got the bones to deal with. I guess the stench of rotting dragon will remain for a few years to come.”  
“What did you do to the flesh?”  
“Burned it in the furnaces.” Fili smiled, a smile of satisfaction. “Who might have known that Smaug would be lighting his own pyre that day?”

They had reached the breach that once had been the main gate of Erebor and stepped out into the sunlight. There was an army of dwarrow camped outside the gates and somewhat into the distance, an army of elves. All around were the traces of a mighty battle and Kili could smell more pyres.

“Did I miss something?”  
“Only the greatest battle of this age,” Fili replied with a small grin.  
Kili slowly turned his head and gave his brother an incredulous stare. “How long have I been out?”  
“Almost two weeks.”  
“Oh.”  
“Don’t worry. No one will hold it against you, you’ve been close to death after...” Fili hesitated, but his brother shrugged.  
“After killing Smaug almost killed me.”  
“Yes.”

A few of the dwarrow closest to them caught sight of the brothers and jumped up from the rocks they had been sitting upon.  
“The Dragonslayer!” one of them yelled.  
Dozens of heads flew around and the words spread like a wildfire. And within minutes, Kili, with his brother at his side, faced the entire dwarven army hailing him and chanting his name over and over again.

“See,” Fili said gently to his shocked younger brother. “You’re a hero.”  
“But I did...”  
“You did what you had to, I know. But face it, you killed a dragon. Only heroes kill dragons.”  
Their eyes met again. “But you’re still going to be king, are you?” Kili’s eye went wide with worry. “They won’t replace you with me, will they?”  
“I don’t think so,” Fili gave back with a gentle smile. “At least I haven’t heard of it yet.”  
“But I won’t!” Kili gritted his teeth. “No matter what they call me, you’re Durin’s heir!”  
“And you’re my brother. Durin’s Lion and his brother, the Dragonslayer. Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

The noise around them had died down again, but as they made their way across the barren slopes, everyone they passed bowed deeply and more than one time Kili heard his name spoken so reverentially as if he were a god.  
“I hope this doesn’t get to my head,” he whispered.  
“I’d knock it out again,” Fili replied, and for the first time since the Misty Mountains, the two brothers broke out into a laugh.

Down the slope, where the ground levelled out again, and close to the road to Dale, they met Bard, the Bowman, and, to Kili’s surprise, Bifur. The two were standing with their heads close together and gesturing at a contraption in the dwarf’s hand. A few bales of straw were piled up behind them.  
When they noticed the Durin brothers approaching Bifur waved with a broad grin and Bard lifted a hand. 

“Well met.” Then he bowed his head at Kili. “Kili Dragonslayer. I speak on behalf of Laketown to bring you our gratitude. Your strength and courage has saved us all.”

Kili didn’t know what to reply and stepped uneasily from one foot to the other. “I’m not used to being treated like a hero,” he finally muttered.  
“You’d better,” Bard gave back with a smile. “But for now, we want to present you with a gift.”  
Fili stepped forward and took the contraption from Bifur’s hands, then turned around to face his brother.

“I know how hard it would be for you, never to be able to shoot your bow again.” He exchanged a glance with Bard and Bifur. “So I approached the best craftsman and the best bowman I could find and asked them to build a bow that can be shot with one hand.”  
Kili’s eyes went wide as he looked at the weapon Fili was holding out to him. 

It looked like a small bow fastened to a handle at a right angle. On the underside of that handle was a rectangular compartment and a small bolt, at the tip was something that looked like a stirrup.  
Kili gave the three expectant men and dwarrow an utterly bewildered look.

“Let me show you.” Bard took the strange bow from Fili’s hand. “It looks a bit ungainly, but that’s because we had to build in the compartment for the bolts here.” He pointed at the box. “This is how you draw.”

He pointed it down and put one foot into the stirrup. With his right hand, he pulled the string up and fastened it to a small hook. Then he held it up, aimed, and with his forefinger, pushed the little lever back. A bolt flew from the bow and buried itself deeply into the bale of straw.

Kili’s eyes went even wider. “Let me try.”  
Bard stepped behind him and guided his movements, and while Kili had to admit it was awkward at first, he could see that with practise, he could become quite swift in drawing and shooting this thing.  
“But what about reloading?” he asked before trying his first shot.  
“That,” Bard said, “was a problem that gave us a headache. But this artisan here solved the problem with a grace I can only admire. Try it, just shoot.”  
Kili took a deep breath, braced himself and pulled the trigger. The bolt sprang free and sailed through the air, but Kili’s grip had been too loose and the bolt clattered to the ground far off the mark. 

And to his surprise, another bolt was already positioned. “How...”  
“Don’t ask me.” Bard chuckled. “All I understood is that it is a mechanism with springs. Ten bolts fit into that compartment, so you have eleven shots before you need to reload.”

Kili stared at his new weapon with whiny eyes and a slow grin spreading on his face. “I can still shoot.”  
“That’s what I meant, brother.”  
Kili hastily pressed the weapon into Bard’s hands and embraced his brother. Fili closed his arms around him and they remained like this for a very long time. When they stepped away from each other, both of them had moist cheeks, but both Bifur and Bard pretended not to notice.

“And that’s only the beginning,” Fili said and exchanged a smile with Bard.  
Kili stared back and forth between them.  
“Wait until you see what the people of Laketown have for you,” the Bowman added and laughed. “You cannot escape the fate of a hero, Kili Dragonslayer!”


	5. Epilogue

In the end, Thorin Oakenshield never took up the crown of Erebor. 

Instead, he gave it to his nephew, the one they called Durin’s Lion. Of course word had gotten out that he had been killed by the goblins, and yet was still alive. Who else then could he be but the next Durin? Durin the Deathless he had been called after all, and who better to hold his crown than the young warrior that had been killed but not died?

No other king before Durin’s Lion, apart from Durin the Deathless himself, had rested so sure on his throne. For not only was Durin’s Lion the incarnation of Durin himself, but his brother, who never left his side, was the invincible Dragonslayer.

Marked by dragon blood and dragon fire, he wore armor made from Smaug’s hide and a mantle from the leather of his wings, a gift of gratitude from the folk of Bard. No one could ever hope to harm the king as long as his guardian and protector, his brother the Dragonslayer, stood beside him. 

Thus they ruled together in the halls of their forefathers, rebuild to their ancient glory, and restored the honor and greatness of Durin’s people. 

Durin’s Lion, Fili, King under the Mountain, and his brother, Kili Dragonslayer.


End file.
